


Learning to Live Again

by cywscross



Series: Tumblr Prompts 2016 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eichen | Echo House, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Mates, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re both different these days, the way a window or a mirror is different after it’s been broken and then glued back together.  But they cover each other’s cracks, and most days, that’s enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Live Again

**Author's Note:**

> _Anonymous said: Hey Cross I was hoping you could drabble a bit with these lyrics: "We will recover/The worst is over, now./All those fires we've been walking through,/And still we survive, somehow." for Steter, with maybe post-Eichen Peter and post-Nogi Stiles, and only if you have time of course; if not, feel free to totally ignore :)_
> 
> This sort of went off on a bit of a tangent…

 

 _“We will recover_  
_The worst is over, now._  
_All those fires we've been walking through,_  
_And still we survive, somehow.”_

 **_–_ ** [ **_Recover by Natasha Bedingfield_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbCVcPst6J4)

 

Two months after Peter loses his mind all over again, Eichen House goes up in flames, except this time, the fire is a bright cobalt blue and doesn’t hurt him.

A big, black fox with nine bushy tails made of the darkest of shadows comes for him, loping through the flames without concern and sinking its fangs and claws into anything that moves, rending them to ragged chunks of blood and bone and flesh.

It does the same to Valack, ripping his throat out with its teeth before the doctor can do more than scream and flatten himself against the wall.  The fox leaves a trail of crimson paw prints behind it, bold and unrepentant, a promise as much as a warning.

It finds Peter curled up under the shabby cot in the far corner of the cell, and it shoulders its way under as well – ignoring the crack of the cheap bedframe – and licks at the werewolf’s face until the vacant expression finally flickers with life again.  Peter’s nonverbal, emitting choked off snarls that catch in his chest instead even as he tries to shrink further away, right up until his hands brush silky blood-speckled fur and something like recognition dawns.  Then he’s burrowing forward, whimpers crawling out of his throat as he lets the fox’s tails wrap around him in a safe cocoon of darkness.

It takes some coaxing, some waiting for the drugs to run their course, some further encouraging purrs while they scent each other, but in the end, the fox coaxes the werewolf onto all four legs instead of two, and they leave.

The fox leads, the wolf follows, each step shaky from exhaustion and pain and starvation, but even when they have to step through the dancing heat of the flames currently blocking anyone else from entering as well as swallowing this hellhole piece by piece, Peter doesn’t falter.  This magnificent creature in front of him didn’t leave him behind, even when that meant razing Eichen House to the ground and painting the walls with the blood of every last living being inside, and until this moment, Peter didn’t think anyone would, not even the boy-fox he’s allowed himself to form a pack bond with, and so he didn’t dare let himself hope for a rescue before.

But Stiles came anyway, _packmate-Pack-Stiles_ , familiar no matter his physical form, and to Peter, that kind of loyalty means everything.

They walk through fire, towards the promise of freedom, and Peter isn’t even surprised when the flames coalesce around him, thawing the ice from his bones, but not for a second do they burn him.

 

* * *

 

Stiles has never really been the same again since the Nogitsune was extracted.  You stir two things together as thoroughly as Stiles and the dark kitsune were, you can never really completely unstir them again, so it’s honestly no surprise that the Nogitsune leaves something of itself behind.

Post-possession, the first and last time Scott reached for a slice of the pizza that Stiles bought for a pack meeting – for _him and Peter_ to enjoy during said pack meeting – Stiles _snarled_ , deep and guttural and far darker than any average shifter can manage, and their resident True Alpha practically leapt away from him like Stiles had the plague.  Only Deaton swearing up and down that the Nogitsune was trapped and not going anywhere again prevented the rest of the pack from performing an exorcism or locking Stiles up or something.  Still, from that point on, Stiles was… avoided, even more than he was when Allison’s death was still fresh on everyone’s minds.

Peter never did, never looked at him like he was a stranger, never shunned him like he was going to bring about the apocalypse any day.  If anything, he started spending even more time with Stiles, no longer confining their moments together to their joint research sessions alone, and whenever Stiles growled at him or pinned the werewolf to the carpet to win the wrestling match for the TV remote or ran through the woods with a fleet-footedness that saw him keeping up with Peter, Peter only growled back or laughed with delight or grinned and picked up his pace so that Stiles would have to as well.

And then he got himself thrown into Eichen House when he tried to triple-play Kate Argent, and the idiot should’ve _told_ Stiles, so Stiles would at least have a contingency in place to – at best – prove his innocence to Scott, or – at worst – get the both of them out of La Iglesia.

But Peter didn’t, and as a result, Stiles has Eichen House to contend with instead, and he has to wait until Scott and the others stop giving him suspicious sidelong glances like they’re waiting for him to break Peter out, which – granted – is exactly what Stiles is planning to do but, after a few weeks of Stiles going to school, going home, and rinse and repeat, they seem to decide that Stiles won’t do anything, and even if he tries, well.  People have been underestimating him his entire life.  Even now, with an extra growl in his voice and a penchant for sharper teeth and darker eyes, Scott and the others don’t really _see_ , especially since they’ve done their best not to, and Stiles has done _his_ best not to let them.

Out of sight, out of mind, and Stiles takes shameless advantage of it, as he always has.

The thing is, Eichen House is a fortress.  A supernatural fortress with almost every defense available.  Except for one that would stop a thousand-year-old entity.  The place couldn’t contain the Nogitsune last time – Noshiko Kin-Betrayer had to use the Nemeton as a cage – and that hasn’t changed in a mere seventy years.

Stiles is not a Nogitsune, not quite, not entirely, not yet.  But he certainly isn’t human anymore either, not with the memories he retains, and the power at his disposal.  He’s more animal, more spirit nowadays, something in-between, but he hasn’t actively tapped into that power beyond what the surface of it gives him.  Until now, until his packmate’s life and freedom and sanity is on the line.

Perhaps they should have killed him when they had the chance.  Or secured his loyalty instead of pushing him away, straight into Peter’s arms.  And on hindsight, it would be just like Peter to manipulate events that way, except for the rather sad fact that he didn’t have to manipulate anyone or anything at all and got it anyway by simple virtue of being in the right place at the right time.  And Peter is just like Stiles in that regard – the werewolf wouldn’t be himself he didn’t take advantage of an opportunity all but dumped into his lap.  Either way, it’s far too late to change anything now.

So Stiles takes those two months to figure himself out, to work out how to shift, how to produce fire with a flick of his tails, how to be everything the Void inside him promises he can be without losing himself to it.  He has Peter to anchor him now, and all the reason in the world to get stronger.

Also too, he makes plans for the future, for _their_ future, and as it turns out, the task isn’t too difficult.  The Nogitsune liked playing human too sometimes, without the possession aspect, which was easy enough to achieve considering illusions are a kitsune’s wheelhouse.  And over the course of a thousand years, the fox has amassed more than a few residences around the world, and chief among those are the handful of shrines in Japan.  Stiles does his own background checks, and while a few are currently being inhabited by families that have moved in over the years, most are still abandoned and no doubt surrounded by some very old, very powerful wards.

Perfect for two fugitives to disappear to while they heal, and perhaps to live in afterwards as well.  And the Japanese are – to this day – still very respectful of shrines and their caretakers.  Some even still believe in gods and youkai, and the various lore attached to them, and therefore behave accordingly.  This pleases something in Stiles, the parts of him that are more _him_ with every passing day rather than remnants of the Nogitsune, and those parts still remember an age when humans bowed their heads to gods and made the proper offerings in return for sharing their lands.

He secretly squirrels away the papers and passports needed for two people, and then he packs up everything in Peter’s apartment and ships it all out with some of his own things to a warehouse close to the shrine he chooses from the Nogitsune’s memories.

Then he sits down and writes his dad a letter.  The Sheriff will receive it once Stiles and Peter are long gone, and if he wants, Stiles will leave him a trail to follow.  He doesn’t know if his father will join them but he doubts the man will sell out his own son, and on the off-chance that he does, well, Stiles isn’t ruled by the Nogitsune’s pride, nor is he hampered by seventy years’ worth of imprisonment, and he grows more powerful by the day.  No one will even find the shrine if Stiles doesn’t want them to.

When he finally makes his move, Eichen House crumbles before him, and when he leaves the burning building, the town, his old life behind, it is with Peter at his side.

 

* * *

 

**[One Year Later]**

Peter wakes up to a mouthful of fur.  He rolls his eyes, spits it out, and turns onto his side until he can throw an arm over the body curled up next to him.

A tail smacks him in the face.  Peter just rolls his eyes again before shutting them, basking in the warmth that Stiles is emitting.  Even after a year of being out of that godforsaken nuthouse, he still feels a chill in his bones sometimes, even with the nice weather outside.  It doesn’t hurt that Stiles now runs as hot as he does, and his tails serve as a better blanket than any winter quilt.

Said blanket shifts, another tail tightening briefly around Peter’s waist before letting go entirely, and Peter opens a disgruntled eye in time to see it waving in the direction of the window, which slides open to admit the small tanuki that’s been chittering on the branch outside.  It doesn’t stick around – fortunately for its continued wellbeing – only leaving a letter on the windowsill before taking its leave again.

“It better not be another complaint from that witch,” Peter grumbles.  “We cleaned and warded her entire temple from top to bottom and still didn’t get paid half as much as we deserved.”

“Mmrph,” Stiles snuffles into his pillow before rolling over and cracking a wide yawn.  “That _might_ have something to do with you insulting her all the time.  Calling her a witch doesn’t exactly help.  She`s a minor rain god.”

“Some god,” Peter snorts.  “Can’t even ward her own building.”

He gets another tail to the face.  “You know why.  The powers of a god are based on belief, and there’s not a whole lot of that going around anymore these days, not even in Japan.”

Peter huffs but doesn’t argue.  Instead, he reaches out and drags Stiles on top of him in all his naked glory.  Stiles growls grumpily but allows it without a fuss, resting his chin on Peter’s chest instead.  The ears poking out of his head twitch, swivelling to take in the birds chirping outside, the swish of brooms that whoever are on cleaning duty today are using to sweep away some more fallen cherry blossoms, even the burble of the river on the west side of the shrine.

Peter thinks they’re adorable, although Stiles insists they’re not.  Stiles is almost always partially shifted these days, mostly ears and tails and a hint of fang now and then.  He doesn’t bust out the claws and fire unless he needs to, or he’s pissed, or he’s fully shifted.  It’s as if staying entirely in his human skin makes him uncomfortable, so when they’re at home or making house calls, Stiles no longer bothers with the human façade.

Peter doesn’t mind.  It’s what Stiles is now, so much power in him that it can’t be contained, and he’s gorgeous walking around in a kimono or sweats and a too-large shirt.  Or one of Peter’s shirts.  His tails aren’t exactly… corporeal.  Well, obviously, they can be, they are right now, but they’re also not, existing somewhere between the physical and spiritual planes, so they never get in the way of clothes.

Peter himself no longer has to hide when they’re within the shrine.  There aren’t many werewolves in Japan, and of those around, he’s only met one who asked for refuge here on a full moon night half a month ago before moving on.  He and Stiles have restored the place and made it home, and once they established their presence – cleansing the rivers and lakes in the nearby forest that’s under the shrine’s jurisdiction, renewing the wards, imbuing the land with power once more now that there are guardians living on it again, even making nice with the humans in the small surrounding town, who have probably noticed a few oddities about their new foreign neighbours but are suspiciously adept at taking it in stride and even dropping by to pay their respects after an earthquake and then a rainstorm that was threatening to flood the streets both mysteriously went away before they caused any damage – supernatural creatures soon began showing up at their doorstep.  Everything from kappas to ookami to tengu looking to move into the forest or work at the shrine now that both places are liveable again, and – perhaps more importantly – safe under the protection of a dark kitsune and a werewolf.

The territory they’ve claimed isn’t unmanageably enormous but it isn’t small either, so the extra help is welcome, and even after a cleansing, forests don’t thrive without residents.

Peter’s discovered that, for whatever reason, the creatures – youkai – in Japan are a hell of a lot more… polite than the ones in America.  It’s not that they don’t get rowdy – sometimes, the partying in the forest gets loud enough for even the human folks in town to hear, and there are territory disputes and drunken brawls, just like anywhere else.

But at the same time, they’re more… respectful, for lack of a better word.  There is a certain kind of respect that simply seems ingrained in both humans and youkai around here.  When creatures started showing up in the hopes of making a home in their forest, neither Stiles nor Peter asked for rent.  It didn’t even occur to them that they _could_ ask.  It’s a forest, and forests mean freedom.  So long as nobody’s sawing down trees or setting the woods on fire, they can live however they want in it.  It was the same in Beacon Hills, back when the Hales still reigned and none of them were scattered to the four winds yet, and the nymphs and faeries and merfolk were still under Peter’s family’s protection.  But once in a while, the fae also tried to steal one of their children, or a mermaid attempted to drown a wolf when one of them got too close to a body of water, or the nymphs refused to lend assistance when a rivalling pack attempted to challenge the Hales.

It isn’t like that here.  On the rare occasion that some teenage punks from town manage to deface shrine property or get drunk on the front steps, they get arrested and thrown into a cell for a night and fined, all before the local police sics community service on them.  If they graffitied a part of the shrine, they don’t get to leave until they’ve scrubbed it all off.

There have been three such incidents so far, and Stiles has even made friends with a few of them after an afternoon spent chatting with them while they washed the steps.

Youkai are even better about it, probably because they _know_ what Stiles and Peter do.  Disrespecting them is practically taboo.  Backstabbing the two keepers of the land seems like it doesn’t even register as something they might do.  And in addition, fresh fruit and fish that tingle with a proud touch of magic are left as offerings, and trinkets like smooth pebbles fetched from the bottom of a beloved stream or a branch from a tree that a kodama has inhabited find their way to the shrine, which can then be added to the wards to strengthen them even further, bit by bit.  Stiles and Peter don’t have to ask.  Their tenants acknowledge their competence and authority when it comes to protecting the land and all those living on it, and they even help to reinforce the territory, if only because it’s their home now too.

Peter hasn’t the faintest clue why none of the species in Beacon Hills back in Talia’s day comprehended that basic concept.  At least when the ruling Alpha was Derek and then Scott, it was understandable because their capabilities to lead and protect were subpar at best, and no one in their right mind would count on them for a safe place to live.  _Peter_ wouldn’t have stayed if it wouldn’t have left him a hunted Omega, and then – later – he didn’t want to leave without Stiles, and Stiles would never leave his father or Scott.

As it turned out, Peter was wrong, because in the end, when it came down to it, Stiles chose him, and that fact still makes him stupidly, giddily happy.

“You’re being all smug about something again,” Stiles interrupts his thoughts, peering down at Peter with half-lidded honey-bronze eyes.

Peter hums and doesn’t answer, drawing Stiles down for a kiss instead, which is much more interesting than getting lost down memory lane and possibly reimagining all the ways he wants to throw Derek through a couple trees or bash Scott’s head against a wall until the boy either got off his high horse or died.

None of that matters anymore.  Peter’s happier now than he can ever remember being.  He never thought that a pack of two, several dozen youkai under their care, and a reputation for warding and chasing off evil spirits and unsavoury hunters would be the life for him.  They don’t even have an Alpha between them, per se.  Sometimes, Peter makes the decisions; other times, Stiles does.  He supposes that just makes them both Alphas of this territory.  He doesn’t have the red eyes to prove it, but youkai seem largely unconcerned about that sort of thing, if they know what it is at all, and the ookami all defer to Peter when he divides border patrols between them.

He doesn’t exactly have a day job outside of the supernatural, although Stiles does, sort of.  Which reminds him – they do need to get up soon.

As if reading his mind, Stiles gives his tongue one last lazy suck before withdrawing, much to Peter’s disappointment.  Stiles just grins at him, thwaps his thigh with a tail, and then rolls himself out of bed.  Peter sighs and follows, grabbing the letter on his way past the window.

Yup, that's the witch’s mark.  How annoying.

It’s another day.  Although sometimes, even with its day-to-day annoyances, it still feels like just a very good dream.

 

* * *

 

Whenever they’re within arm’s length of each other, sitting, standing, lying down, Stiles likes to curl his tails around his mate.  It’s habit now, really, from all the months after Eichen House when Peter woke screaming himself hoarse, or sat huddled in a dark corner for entire afternoons, lost in his own head, or shivered until his teeth chattered even under the summer sun.  Stiles would pull him close, _be_ there, soothe away his nightmares, and smother the cold out of his body with a tail or two or nine.  He tried sleeping in separate beds for a week before he gave up.

The first time Peter kisses him, it’s three months after Eichen House burned, and Stiles was cooking breakfast when Peter joined him in the kitchen and stood in the doorway for a long five minutes just watching Stiles before finally approaching and tugging him around, only to kiss him like he wanted to savour it for the rest of his life, slow and deep with unmistakeable intent.

Neither of them wasted time on the are-you-sures.  Peter doesn’t do anything unless he’s sure, and Stiles is eighteen and a thousand, old enough and sometimes too old, and they’ve seen and suffered too much to not go for what they want when it’s clear they both want it.

Besides, Peter’s wanted him since they met, and Stiles has arguably wanted him for almost as long.  Love came after, sometime between researching together for the Beacon Hills Pack and coffee not-dates and bunking on Peter’s couch so he wouldn’t be alone with the fox’s memories shrieking in his head, sometime between tying up Scott’s loose ends once again and running together in the woods beneath a full moon and breaking Peter out of that torture chamber of a prison, sometime between reaching this shrine and making it a home.

Peter is fine with it, with Stiles wrapping a possessive tail or two around him even in front of clients and enemies alike.  In fact, he seems to take great delight in proving someone wrong if they happen to dismiss him and look down on him for being this moon-skinned boy’s ‘bitch’.  Usually, that’s just enemies, and they’re certainly sorry when Peter literally rips their face off or sends them limping away as fast as they can go after getting curb-stomped into the ground.

And who is Stiles to ruin his fun, right?

They’re looking over a treaty alliance now, with the snake demon in charge of a bordering territory.  It’s always best to be on friendly terms with one’s neighbours.  Lounging on the sun-dappled porch, Peter’s using three of Stiles’ tails as cushions while a fourth tail lies across his stomach, and the copy of the potential treaty rests on top of that as Peter idly flips through it.  Stiles sits with his legs hanging over the edge, toes occasionally dipping into the koi pond below and attracting curious fish.

“Are you finished fixing up that last chapter of your book?”  Peter enquires lazily, sneering at condition 15b.

“Mm-hm,” Stiles looks up 15b.  “Sent it to my editor an hour ago.  I still don’t know if it’ll be very popular though.  It’s my first book, and it isn’t even that long.”

Yeah, 15b’s gotta go.  Sending live offerings his ass.  Either the demon is testing them or she’s really goddamn stupid.

“ _I_ read it, and it was good,” Peter counters like his opinion should guarantee the public’s opinion.  Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious, Stiles,” Peter insists, tipping his head back far enough to pin him with one sharp eye.  “Have more confidence.  You’re excellent at solving mysteries, and that translates into your writing.  Trust me – the plot was engaging from beginning to end, and even I didn’t expect the twist in the middle.”

Stiles quirks a grudging smile without meaning to, and Peter smirks, satisfied.  They go back to the treaty, and Stiles drapes another tail over Peter’s chest.

A spring breeze whistles by.  Several wind sprites pinwheel past, waving when they spot Stiles and Peter.  Stiles waves back.  Peter flashes his eyes at them, and they all giggle.  One of them even blushes.

“That is not normal,” Peter mutters almost sulkily.  Stiles laughs.  It’s a good day.

 

* * *

 

Peter jolts awake, sweating and shaking at the same time, hazy images of Valack’s third eye and cold rough hands still clouding his mind while the phantom ghost of electric agony sizzles under his skin.

“-ter!  Peter!  Hey!  Breathe!”

Peter gasps, sucking in air like the voice commands, once, twice, again and again until his lungs are regulating oxygen again, and his nightmares begin to fade.  Stiles’ face swims into view, and Peter can feel the weight of all nine of Stiles’ tails coiled protectively around him.  Stiles notices the instant Peter is back in the present, and then he’s rolling them until Peter is on top, one ear over Stiles’ heartbeat, and body still swathed in tails and looming shadows.  When he closes his eyes, he can almost feel what Stiles constantly feels, the infinite eternity that is the Void, endless and filled with nothing and everything, and so, so safe because Stiles is there, and Stiles will never let him get lost.

Slowly, his breathing evens out, and the death grip he has on Stiles’ arms eases.  The bruises will be gone by morning but Peter still nuzzles his mate in apology.  Stiles just curls a hand around his nape.  His other hand rubs circles into Peter’s back, underneath the arch of Stiles’ tails.

He presses a soft kiss into Peter’s hair, and then another to his temple when Peter lifts his head.  Peter shuffles up until he can tuck his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, breathing in the familiar scent of storms and fox and cool autumn evenings.

He falls back to sleep like that, wrapped up in his mate, and this time he doesn’t dream.

 

* * *

 

On the night of a lunar eclipse, Peter becomes human while Stiles has never been stronger, which means his instincts are that much sharper.  He reverts to kitsune form, all ethereal shadows that melt into the night, save for the nine ghostly wisps of light that burn at the end of his tails.

He runs, through the woods, through the sky, unearthly howls hailing his rapid approach, and every youkai and human within the vicinity know to keep their distance and lock their doors and let the kitsune run tonight.

Unlike the Nogitsune that found its doom in Beacon Hills, twice over now, wronged and mad with rage after seventy years of imprisonment, a creature of wind and fire and darkness locked up because a fellow kitsune _changed her mind_ , the average Nogitsune is a welcome guardian by any who truly understands their kind, regarded as a blessing _because_ it feeds on strife and disorder, and there will never be a short supply of either on this planet.  So tonight, Stiles runs, soaking in the negative, chaotic energy lingering in the air, and consequently cleansing the land – _their land_ – as he replenishes his own energy.

Even the humans will feel lighter tomorrow, like a weight has been lifted from their shoulders, and the offerings of thanks will be plentiful.

Stiles returns just before first light shatters the night sky, following the glittering trail in his mind’s eye that leads him back to where Peter is waiting patiently at the shrine, a glowing beacon that quiets the roar of the Void and guides him home.

He shifts when he’s all but on top of Peter and tumbles into the werewolf’s arms.  Peter snorts with exasperated laughter, but he also clutches at Stiles like he was worried Stiles might not come home.

Stiles hugs him back just as fiercely, tails coming out to envelop his mate.  He isn’t going anywhere.  And the werewolf will learn sooner or later that Stiles isn’t letting _Peter_ go anywhere either.

 

* * *

 

Their reputation grows.  Their territory is probably the safest in all of Japan, and open to any looking for a place to call home, so long as they abide by the ground rules.

Peter still speaks with an accent in his Japanese.  Stiles knows too many dead languages by far.

Peter heads one of the largest ookami packs in the entire eastern hemisphere by the beginning of the third year in their new home, and one day, when he looks in the mirror and sees Alpha red eyes staring back, he ends up choking on his toothpaste for a good two minutes.

Stiles’ first book is a major hit, and the sequel sees his novels hitting international shelves.  He pens both with a pseudonym that Peter gleefully picks for him, which might have been a mistake, but at least only a select handful around the globe would understand the meaning behind _Little Red_.

They make more alliances, within the country, and then overseas, with youkai and gods, and then exorcists and even hunters.  Just a few.

Word gets around.

So they really probably should’ve expected a familiar face darkening their doorstep eventually.

 

* * *

 

Cora is the first.  The land rumbles with word of a visitor but not a hostile, they get a phone call from the doctor whose daughter Stiles dug out of a landslide – unharmed – early in January who passes on a heads-up to them about the foreigner heading for the shrine, and the wards even tell them she comes with an offering of two freshly killed rabbits.

Peter smells her before she hits the gate.  He’s waiting for her by the time she reaches the top, a duffel bag over one shoulder, the rabbits in her other hand, and her face lined with an exhaustion that goes beyond physical.

They stare at each other, and Cora doesn’t seem surprised to see him there.  Peter arches an eyebrow, and for a moment, she hesitates and looks the way Derek usually does right before he blusters his way through whatever situation is making him feel awkward or unnerved or angry or confused or… well, anything really.

But there’s a reason Peter’s always liked his youngest niece most.  She knows there’s a time for bullshitting and bravado, but there’s also a time when honesty really is the best policy.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” She says point-blank, frank and matter-of-fact about it, and Peter would think her wholly unaffected if not for the white-knuckled grip she has on the drawstring of her bag, as well as the unnatural stiffness of her shoulders, not to mention her scent and heartbeat both give her away.  “And I’m tired of running.”

Peter regards her for a minute longer until she looks like she wants to either fidget or bolt, and then he relents and tilts his head towards the house.  “Come on then.  You look like you could use a bite to eat.”

He hears the sigh of relief loud and clear.

They meet Stiles just as he’s coming out of the study, manuscript in hand, a pen tangled between hair and one furred ear, and wearing nothing but a kimono with a sash tied around the waist.  For once, while his ears are still showing, his tails are out of sight, but when he steps into a patch of sunlight, the shadow he casts splashes all nine against the wooden floorboards and adjoining wall, dark and impressive.

Peter glances back in time to see Cora’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say a word about it.  Instead, she nods a careful greeting in Stiles’ direction when he looks at her.  “Stiles.”

“Cora,” Stiles volleys back.  He looks at Peter, then back at Cora.  He shrugs.  “We’ve got more than enough bedrooms.  Peter can show you to one.”

And then he wanders off, bent over his manuscript once more.

Cora blinks after him, then looks at Peter.  Peter shrugs too and motions for her to follow.  “He’s in the middle of his third book.  He gets like that.”

“…So ‘Little Red’ is him?”  Cora asks.

Peter eyes her blandly.  “You’ve read his books then?”

It’s Cora’s turn to shrug.  “They’re good.”

Peter smiles.  “Yes they are.”

 

* * *

 

Cora settles into their life.  She takes all of three days to observe their daily chores before insisting on taking on at least a few of them.  She can run border patrols just as easily as the next wolf around.  Grocery shopping is not beyond her.  And she’s taught herself to cook over the years.

She’s very cautious at first, reserved and watching them both with guarded eyes, not unlike the way she was back when she first returned to Beacon Hills, but debatably even worse now.  Peter and Stiles give her her space.  You don’t corner an animal that already feels cornered after all.

It takes her four months to relax around them.  She’s still snippy with the youkai, but they’re getting used to her gruff demeanour.  She never hurts any of them, and they understand that she’s not a third guardian, just one of their guardians’ blood kin.

Stiles finds that Cora fits in well.  She’s good about not judging, unless the topic deserves her Very Sarcastic Eyebrows.  She sniffs out the fact that Stiles and Peter are a thing within the first two days and doesn’t care.  She’s already heard about Stiles being half-Nogitsune or whatever because she swung by Beacon Hills one last time to visit her brother – Peter privately guesses it was to ask if Derek wanted to go with her to Japan, only for her to find that her brother was no longer there and left no forwarding address or phone number – and she doesn’t care about that either.  Stiles isn’t off-the-wall crazy, and she quickly learns that he’s now one of the most powerful creatures she’s ever met.  If anything, it’s a relief.

She can finally stop running.

And Peter is… different, but also familiar, because Peter isn’t just Peter anymore, a veritable stranger after six years in a coma and so much rage and grief and death.  She sees her Uncle Peter in him again, and while she’ll never ever admit it, the overwhelming gratitude she feels towards Stiles for bringing a piece of her family back almost takes her to her knees the first time she realizes this.

He’s still broken in ways that can never really be unbroken again, but she’s the same, and she’s pretty sure Stiles is too.  Broken is fine, so long as they don’t shatter beyond repair, and she thinks – _hopes_ – that with these two – _Pack_ – she’s slowly finding her place in the world again.

 

* * *

 

The second is – of all people – Chris Argent.  Stiles is the one who meets him, near the edge of town when the land, four kappas, and a karasu-tengu all tell him that there’s this hunter who’s been camping out like a hobo under a tree for the past four days, and is Stiles going to do anything about it because it’s going to rain in another two days, and there’s only so long that the storm can be held off.

“Argent,” Stiles barks and feels a spark of amusement when Chris hits his head on the branch he’s huddled under even as he scrambles to his feet and fumbles for a gun.

He turns fever-bright, bloodshot eyes on Stiles and freezes.

He’s got at least two weeks’ worth of untrimmed beard growth on his face, his clothes are grimy with dirt, and he’s thinner than Cora was when she first arrived.  Overall, he looks like death warmed over.

“Are you an idiot?”  Stiles asks because he can’t not.  “No don’t answer that; it was rhetorical.”  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.  And then he makes his way forward, and before Chris can do more than take a step back, Stiles grabs him and shadow-jumps them back to the shrine.

He dumps the hunter into the hot bath that Peter must have drawn, orders him to get clean, and then bustles out to fetch fresh clothes.

It’s not a sure thing yet but he’s pretty certain they’ve just acquired another housemate.

 

* * *

 

It takes two weeks, a lot of bedrest, a lot of food, and a lot of glaring, arguing, and dick-waving between Chris and Peter before Chris is finally somewhere within throwing distance of healthy again.  Stiles is pretty sure he hasn’t been taking care of himself since Allison died, and then he went off and killed Kate, and then he went _back_ to kill Gerard when Scott called him up because Scott apparently decided to work with the old bastard _again_ during the latest supernatural disaster, only for Gerard to stab him in the back – _shocking_ , Stiles knows – and then… nothing.  Radio silence.  Scott and his Pack have their own lives, college or a job now, and when Chris slipped away a month after putting his father in the ground, nobody really noticed.

Bottom line – he didn’t have anywhere to go either, but he read Stiles’ books because they sounded interesting (Peter preens for Stiles, the big dork), which meant he could trace Stiles to Japan, and he’s heard good things about this shrine from what little contacts he has left, about the humans and supernatural creatures in it, about the laws and the fair judgement and the protection it provides, about its open-door policy, about a kitsune and a werewolf who act as the territory’s protectors, and he was hoping-

Stiles has never heard Chris Argent ramble until now.

“ _Obviously_ you can stay,” Stiles cuts him off with a roll of his eyes.  “Otherwise, I would’ve just let nature run its course while you were squatting like a suicidal homeless dude in the middle of the woods.”

Chris has the decency to look faintly embarrassed, but he also looks relieved and bone-weary and actually a bit like he’s two seconds away from crying, so Stiles politely looks the other way and pretends not to notice.

But he also stays and slings a tail over Chris’ waist, and he doesn’t leave even after the hunter falls into another deep, healing sleep once more.

 

* * *

 

Seven years down the road, the shrine house is occupied by an Alpha werewolf, a Beta werewolf, a hunter, and a Nogitsune.  The adjacent forest is now home to almost three hundred youkai, and Stiles and Peter are considering expansion options.  The town is thriving, and people smile and wave and dip their heads when the shrine residents go shopping or eat out.  There probably isn’t a single household that doesn’t have a collection of Stiles’ books.

Peter still has nightmares, still bickers with Chris, still adores Stiles with all his heart, and he laments the day when Scott McCall and his puppies will show up at their door.  Stiles promises he can… _escort_ the True Alpha out of town should that day ever arrive.

Cora is less cagey, more prone to occasional bouts of laughter, working part-time in a garage in town because she’s apparently incredibly gifted with vehicles, and she’s being courted by an ookami who fell in love with her after she punched him in the face for flirting with her.  Stiles doesn’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

Chris still hunts.  It’s what he’s good at, and when he can _help_ people, when he’s doing his best to make his daughter proud, he enjoys it.  He takes solo hunts sometimes, but he also tags along with Stiles or Peter because one of them really should stay behind to tend to the shrine most days.  He has more ins with the weapons trade than anyone Stiles knows, and while the Argent name is dirt these days, _Chris_ is connected to the Shrine, and that makes all the difference.

Stiles.  Stiles looks back to when he was six, ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen – Scott, his mom, the supernatural, Peter, Peter, Peter – and he doesn’t think he could’ve ever predicted he would end up where he is today.  He loves Peter more than anyone, loves Cora and Chris too because they’re Pack, true Pack, and just the other day, his father finally called and told him he was retiring, and if maybe Stiles still had room in his life for his old man.

 _Of course he does_.

He loves what he does, loves his home, and he thinks, it’s all been worth it.  If it took the loss of his mom, the loss of his best friend, the loss of his innocence and his mind and his humanity, just to get where he is today, to have what he has today, then he thinks it was all well worth it.

Because he’s happy.  Because he loves a werewolf who loves him back just as much.  Because he has a Pack who knows what he is and doesn’t flinch away.  Because he has a home that he built with his own two hands.  Because he’s not living the life he once thought he might have, he’s not even living the life he probably _should_ be living, at Scott’s side, back in Beacon Hills, but he’s living a life that makes him happy, and he’ll burn this world to the ground before he lets anyone take it away ever again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


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